Recently, I sent out a Facebook message: Did anyone have any suggestions for a great, gritty movie that the hubs and I could watch after we put the boys to bed? Hubby had had a rough week, you see, and sometimes we like to relieve stress by watching other people blow things up.
Several people recommended Inglorious Basterds, but when I went to Redbox that night, they didn’t have the Basterds movie. So, casting about for something similar, I selected Never Say Never, the Justin Bieber bio-pic.
Turns out, it isn’t similar at all. But I enjoyed it very much.
The next morning, while putting on makeup, I started wondering, because my brain will not stop jabbering for even a nanosecond: All this attention and adulation and hype – is The Bieber really so superior to me? I mean, how would we stack up, in a head to head contest?
So I started making a list.
Have you watched the movie? ‘Cause I’m telling you right now, dude could charm the Old Testament right out of the Bible. It beats all I’ve ever seen. He smiles. He grabs and hugs. He freakin’ bounces, like Tigger, which sounds like it would be incredibly annoying; and with anyone else it would be, but The Bieber can get away with it.
Me? I don’t believe the adjective “charming” has ever been used to describe me. Not once in my life. Ever. Because some things just don’t apply.
Here’s an example: The first time The Bieber saw Usher, outside a recording studio, he bounded right up to him and asked him if he (Bieber) could sing one of Usher’s songs to him.
Another example: The Bieber also announced, when he was about 10 minutes into his career, that he would headline at Madison Square Garden in one year. Which he did.
Can I tell you right now, if I saw even a minor celebrity out in the wild, I would not be making requests of them. I would pull a paper bag over my head and dart in the other direction. Also, forget a one-year plan: I cannot tell you with any assurance that I will get around to washing my hair tomorrow.
The Bieber has known he was going to be a pop star from the time he was a baby drooling into his rice cereal, and every purple-sneakered step he’s taken has only moved him closer to his goal.
On the other hand I, post-babies, tend to zing around from one activity to another, like a chipmunk who has ingested her body weight in illegal substances.
She’s reading…she’s writing…now she’s fetching a glass of water…she’s going to the bathroom…she is now shuffling the stack of bills on the table…she’s shoving toys under the couch…she’s checking messages…she is cleaning the blinds…now she’s reading but I think it’s a different book – Dick, do you have a good angle on that? I think it’s a different title this time…
Oh dear – this one’s not even close. The Bieber “brings it” to the dance floor so skillfully and effortlessly, he looks like the love child of Michael Jackson and Tina Turner. (Which is a visual that none of us need in our head, and I do apologize.)
Whereas I grew up in an evangelical environment where dancing was considered to be the eighth deadly sin. I never had a chance to develop any moves and by the time I was grown, it was too late. My five-year-old beats me at “Just Dance.” Every time.
Never Say Never is pretty exhaustive – the cameras follow The Bieber everywhere for weeks. Yet not once do they show him preparing food of any sort.
I, on the other hand, have turned into a frickin’ good cook and baker over the years. I’d like to see The Bieber try to take on my chicken pot pie, or my lemon white-chocolate cheesecake, or my cranberry-orange scones.
Go ahead, Justin. I’m waiting.
Advantage: Cathy. As far as I know.
For about a minute and a half after I made this list, I thought about doing a little WWJBD experiment – trying to improve myself in each of the Justin-dominated categories. I could do a series of posts (I thought). I could go to MacDonald’s and work on my charm. I could go to a concert at the Commons and practice my dancing.
But just the idea of attempting this experiment made me want to lie down with a cold compress. I love you peeps dearly. But not that much.
So all we have is this list of things where (mostly) The Bieber can clean my clock. Which might make me feel bad, if I had the energy to feel bad, which I don’t, because that’s one more area where The Bieber’s got me beat: Energy.
Leave it to The Bieber to make all of us 40-year-old housewives look bad.
You can follow Cathy on twitter @cathylynnl and visit her blog windowsandpaperwalls.wordpress.com.